


Bad Company

by PastelWonder



Series: Return To Me [5]
Category: Blitz (2011), Spy (2015)
Genre: F/M, What We've All Been Waiting For
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 19:23:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5638987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Susan Cooper surfaces after disappearing on a rogue mission for four months, the CIA sends their top agent to collect her. </p><p>What they didn't count on was Tom Brant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dulce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulce/gifts).



> Note the Archive Warning for Graphic Depictions of Violence. The way Pastel writes sex is the way she writes beat-downs. 
> 
> Buckle up ;)

He was dreaming about his latest case when his alarm went off. He rolled, groaning, and reached over her bulk for the nightstand.

 

He heard her muffled, “Morning,” from under the duvet.

 

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and snorted. “Mornin’.”

 

“What time is it?” she asked, eyes and nose peeking out from under the covers, her voice small and rough with sleep.

 

“Same fuckin’ time it was we woke up yesterday, Susan. And the day before. And the day before that.” He sat up, stretching his shoulders and chest and yawning, “It don’t change.”

 

Her hand snuck out to pinch the tender skin on the inside of his bicep.

 

“Ow- fuck!” He wrenched the covers off her face. “It’s six, alright? Jaysus, first thing in the fuckin’ mornin’ she’s ‘arassin’ me...”

 

“Thank you,” she huffed, turning over and tugging the duvet up around her ears.

 

_Unbelievable._

 

“Oh, you’re so bloody welcome, your Majesty.”

 

Mouth twisting in a smirk, he snatched a handful of the covers, whipping them off her as he stood.

 

“Tahm!”

 

She squinted back at him over her shoulder, pawing her fringe out of her eyes. Her hair was a tangled mop around her face and she was naked as the day she was born. “That’s super rude!”

 

He was sorely tempted to climb back into bed and slap her ass for good measure.

 

“Was it?” he drawled, leering at her with a sharp-toothed grin. “In that case, my _sincerest_ apologies. Won’t ‘appen again.”

 

He missed the way her eyes narrowed as he turned, a bit stunned when there was a hard _whack_ to the back of his head on his way to the bathroom. The paperback he’d been trying to finish since before she came home with him hit the carpet behind him with a dull _thud_.

 

“You li’le...” He touched the spot where she’d beamed him.

 

_Got a nasty over-hand, don’t she?_

 

“Oops, my bad!”

 

Her tits jiggled as she reached over the edge of the bed for the covers.

 

“Won’t happen again,” she promised sweetly as she yanked them. He heard her snicker over the soft _whoosh_ they made as she nestled into them.

 

He couldn’t help smirking to himself as the shower heated.

 

_Fuckin’ minx._

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

He ran through the details of the case again as he came out of the bedroom, buttoning his pullover over his tee shirt. It was a particularly gruesome one: prostitutes assaulted and strangled, their faces cut to ribbons and their arms and legs sliced up-and-down post mortem. The killer rolled their mutilated bodies in plastic tarp and dumped them out in the open on rubbish heaps.

 

 _The Cleaner,_ the press had crowned him. One headline had read, _Cleaner Takes Out South London’s Trash_ , after they found the second victim. That particular paper hadn’t printed another story on the murders since their lead journalist turned up in Intensive with a broken collarbone and three cracked ribs.

 

 _Not much for sensationalism, if yah know what I mean_ , Tom had sneered at him half-way through the beating. It hadn’t lasted long; the little wanker shat his pants and fainted after his collarbone snapped, and Tom had promised to take Susan to the films that evening, anyway.

 

Altogether, there’d been four girls over six months, and not a one of them over the age of twenty. Falls found the last victim on her beat; she was so shook-up about it she slept in his living room for a week, afraid she’d use if she went home alone. Susan had insisted she didn’t mind cooking for three - said she enjoyed having _civilized company_ for a change - so he’d let her stay on the pull-out.

 

That was a month ago, and they still didn’t have any viable leads.

 

“Good morning, starshine. The Earth says hello.”

 

Susan was standing in the kitchen, wearing a thick terry robe and house slippers, one hand propped on her hip and a spatula in the other, smiling at him.

 

A sudden image of her, grey-skinned and glassy-eyed, all cut up and wrapped in plastic sheeting on a pile of rubbish, streaked across his mind like lightning. His gut gave a violent wrench.

 

_Fuck-_

 

Pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eyelids, he took a deep breath through his nose. “Jaysus-”

 

She sounded like she was right in his face as she called, “Tom?”

 

He jerked a little when he felt her warm hands cup his jaw, reflexes catching her firmly by the wrists. “Don’t-”

 

_Easy, mate; it’s Susan. Look at her. It’s Susan._

 

“Susan-”

 

“What, baby?” she asked softly, light crease in her brow as her eyes searched his face. “What’s wrong?”

 

 _Baby?_ Had she called him that before?

 

Gently, she worked her wrists out of his grip and wrapped her arms about his neck, hands smoothing over his shoulder blades as she pulled him to her.

 

He wound his arms around her waist - she was so fucking _soft_ \- dragging her closer and burying his nose in her hair. She hadn’t showered yet; he could smell the overly-sweet shampoo she used, and whatever she’d been cooking, and the scent of his own sweat from their love-making.

 

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, and concentrated on the smell of her hair and the feeling of her body, warm and soft in his arms. Eventually, the horrible image of her dissolved into the orange-red glow of his eyelids backlit with the light from the kitchen.

 

After a couple beats, she leaned back a little, tipping up her chin to look at him. His chest squeezed tightly as she touched her fingertips to the corner of his lips and murmured, “What’s wrong, Tom?”

 

 _This. You. Me. Everything._ “Nothin’. S’just a case I’m workin’.”

 

“Wanna talk about it?”

 

 _Yes._ “No.”

 

“Ok.” She quirked her lips in a small smile and started to head back into the kitchen.

 

He didn’t want to let her go, but the words wouldn’t come out, so he cinched his arms around her waist and dipped his head.

 

She laughed softly, “Tom”, and pushed up onto the balls of her feet to meet his mouth with hers.

 

His flat was filled with the soft sound of them kissing, their lips moving against one another’s and the sweet fucking noises she made for him as he stroked his tongue into her mouth and cupped her breasts.

 

“You’re a mess,” she told him affectionately as they pulled apart, a pretty flush dusting the tops of her cheeks.

 

“Am I?” he rumbled, half-hard for her already, his case a mile away in his mind.

 

She nodded, dimples out under the apples of her cheeks. “Yes. Go sit down.”

 

He sat at the breakfast bar while he ate, watching her putter about. She made him a sandwich for lunch with leftover pork chop, sealing it in tinfoil and tucking it into a sack, along with a couple of cookies she’d snapped into a little plastic bag.

 

“Irish shortbread!” she chirped when he quirked an eyebrow. She opened the cabinet above the stove, stretching up on her tiptoes and pulling down a worn paperback cookbook. Smiling brightly, she flashed him the cover: _The Irish Heritage Cookbook_.

 

“I found it at Othello’s on my walk.” Her smile faltered a little as she quickly tucked the cookbook against her hip to catch the leafs of paper trying to slip out of the bottom of it. She laid it gently on the counter, opening it to a page she’d marked with a blue post-it note. “Tonight I’m going to make… chicken, ham, and leek pie. With roasted parsnips.”

 

Rick Ford takes two to the chest and he wins the fucking lotto.

 

He snorted softly. _Figure that._

 

“What?” she asked, still smiling as she puffed her fringe out of her eyes.

 

The corners of his lips twitched down as he shrugged casually. “Nothin’.”

 

There was a loud _buzz buzz buzz_ ; his mobile was vibrating on the countertop.

 

He reached for it over the breakfast bar. The caller ID said _Arlington, VA_.

 

Who did he know in Virginia?

 

 _Ah_. _Not my mobile._

 

He’d bought her one her second week here and added a line to his plan. He didn’t like the idea of her wandering around London without a way to reach him.

 

“S’yours,” he held it out to her, glancing at the clock on the microwave. _Shit._

 

He’d miss the train if he didn’t hurry.

 

“Bollocks. Gotta push off or I’ll be late.” He snatched his jacket off the sofa and shrugged it on, scooping up his keys and wallet off the coffee table.

 

Working his wallet into the back pocket of his Levis and looping a finger through his keyring, he turned to kiss her goodbye.

 

She was rooted to the spot, staring at her mobile vibrating in her hand. Her left arm unconsciously cradled against her, she was pale as a sheet, lips slightly parted and eyes unblinking.

 

“Susan? Are you goin’ to answer that?”

 

“Susan?” he repeated louder when she didn't answer.

 

She startled, inhaling sharply. “Tom.”

 

She shook her head, fumbling for the _Ignore_ button as she said a bit breathlessly, “Sorry, I- Wrong number.”

 

_Why’s she lying?_

 

“Headed out?” she asked, noticing his jacket and keys and pointedly ignoring his suspicious look. She plucked his lunch sack off the counter, glancing at the clock as she handed it to him.

 

“Here. Don’t want you to be late.”

 

He took it, studying her face with narrowed eyes as he bent down for his kiss. She stretched up and pressed her lips to his cheek.

 

“Everythin’ alright?” he asked, knowing it bloody well wasn’t, and that if he didn’t leave now he’d miss the train and have to ring a cab.

 

“Yes,” she nodded, forcing a cheery smile as she bustled about the kitchen. Her mobile laid harmlessly on the counter. “Right as rain.”

 

He’d figure it out when he got back. His mind back on the case, he opened the front door, wondering if Nash had come up with any leads in the last twelve hours.

 

“Tom?”

 

He turned, and the look on her face, the set in her shoulders…

 

“Suzy? What’s wrong?”

 

She stepped up, avoiding his eyes as she tugged the lapels of his jacket straight and smoothed a hand down the front of his pullover. Her tongue darted out, licking her lips to hide the tremble in them. “I just…”

 

Her voice cracked. When she finally met his eyes, he could see hers were wet.

 

_Everything is wrong._

 

The floor tilted beneath him. His jaw clenched, throat working before he asked in a low tone, “Are you- are you goin’ to be ‘ere when I get back?”

 

That she didn’t look surprised when he asked made him sick to his stomach.

 

“I don’t know,” she murmured, eyes tracing the lines his face.

 

Memorizing, he realized with a grinding lurch.

 

He gripped her by the upper arms, tugging her to him. “Susan, what’s ‘appenin’?”

 

“I don’t know,” she repeated, sounding smaller and further away. Going inward.

 

_No. No no no-_

 

“Susan!” He shook her viciously. “Susan, Goddammit, talk to me. Tell me what’s ‘appenin’.”

 

“Someone is coming,” she whispered.

 

He bent to catch her eye. “Coming for you?”

 

She nodded.

 

“The person who called you-”

 

“It was Rick.”

 

He felt a wave of cold wash through. “What?”

 

“That number- that’s Rick’s number-”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

She closed her eyes, her pretty face pinched in pain as she nodded. “He told them where I am. Someone will come now.” She looked at him. “You need to leave.”

 

“ _I_ need to leave? You're not makin' any sense - _who_ told them where you are? Who are _they_?”

 

He looked around like the answer might be pinned to the wall. Then all at once, he understood. Rick's number, Arlington.

 

_Do you think people can change? There’s someone who wants to see me and I- He wasn’t a good… person_

 

"Leave, Tom." Her voice had grown a little stronger, hands pressing insistently on his chest. "Leave now. Go!"

 

And never see her again.

 

_Like 'ell._

 

"Tom!"

 

"Hush," he snapped, one hand still gripping her arm as he turned her towards the bedroom. If the CIA was coming for her, they needed to pack a bag and leave now. Together.

 

“No-” She back-pedalled, trying to tug herself out of his grasp. “You _don’t_ understand - these people are not petty criminals - they’re trained assassins and they will _kill_ you and I can’t - damn it, Tom, let go of me!”

 

He shoved her into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him with a loud _wham_ as he released her. She stumbled a few steps in her house shoes and turned, yanking the tie on her robe tighter as she huffed, “This is _not_ some bar fight in a pool hall, Tom-”

 

He cut her off with a jab of his finger at the floor. “Do you love me?”

 

Southend, the Metro, Nash, Falls - it didn't matter. Not if she wanted him. None of it mattered.

 

“Wha-”

 

She pinched the neckline of her robe together anxiously; he could see the shake in her hands as he repeated slowly, clearly, “Do you love me or not?”

 

“Ugh, God, Tom!” she snapped, pulling at her hair. “This is not the time for your melodrama! I am tel-ling you it's over. You cannot win this fight-”

 

_See about that._

 

“And I am ask-ing you,” he barked, ignoring her flinch, “ _do you love me_?”

 

“Yes!” Her shoulders sagged. “Yes. You know I do. This isn’t about that-”

 

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

 

“Tom, I am _begging_ you. Please. Don’t do this.” Her breath caught in her throat, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I can’t put another man I love in the ground. I-”

 

She covered her eyes with her hands and let out a sob. “Oh God-”

 

_She’s losin’ it, mate._

 

“Susan?”

 

“It’s too late,” she whispered. She shook her head, looking him in the eye. It was the first time he’d seen her afraid. “He’s already here.”

 

_What’s she on about?_

 

His face scrunched in confusion. “What?”

 

And then, as if on-cue, a suave voice called through the door, “Knock-knock. Hey Coop, yah home?”

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

He opened his bedroom door slowly, glancing wistfully at his hurley on the mantle as he stepped out into the living room, Susan right behind him.

 

“Holy shit.” A man propped against his breakfast counter, dressed in a dark suit with a crisp white shirt and silk tie, gave him a shocked up-and-down look.

 

“Surveillance wasn’t kidding. You,” He shook a long, slender finger at Tom. “You are a dead ringer.” He considered that with a downward quirk of his lips as he folded his arms across his chest, amending, “Well, I guess Ford would be the _dead_ ringer, wouldn’t he?”

 

“Super Cooper!” he beamed as she tried to push past Tom with a snarl. Tom threw his arm out to stop her.

 

The man opened his wide for an embrace. “There you are! I’ve been looking all _over_ for you. You are a very sneaky little girl.”

 

Hand clenching the neck of her robe shut, she snapped, “How many times have I told you not to say stuff like that, Fine? Before someone _actually_ shoots you.”

 

“Oh, am I-” Fine eyed Susan’s robe, looking between her and Tom with mock-embarrassment. “Am I interrupting something?”

 

“Now that you mention it,” Tom sneered, ignoring Susan’s hand on his bicep and her soft, “Don’t.”

 

“You are.”

 

“I did knock,” Fine promised with a sharp-toothed grin. “No one answered, so I let myself in. Hope you don’t mind.”

 

Tom took a closer look at him, sizing him up as he smirked, “My line a’work, we call that breakin’ and enterin’.”

 

“In _my_ line of work, we call that standard procedure.”

 

“What do you want, Fine?” Susan spat as she and Tom tousled subtly over who would stand in front of whom. Eventually, Tom won out.

 

“Coop,” Fine admonished, tsking lightly. “Don’t be like that. I’ve been worried about you. We all have.”

 

“Got a funny way a’showin’ it,” Tom sniffed. “Call ‘er from ‘er dead boyfriend’s mobile and then break into ‘er flat-”

 

“ _Her_ flat?” Fine slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing down at the floor and back at Tom.

 

Tom shrugged. “‘er flat, our flat, the flat I’m fuckin’ ‘er in every night-”

 

“Tom!” Susan gasped.

 

“-call it whatevah yah like.”

 

Fine nodded. “I see. Well, Coop. That was fast. They say time heals all wounds.” He waved his hand, _Nah,_ eyes glinting maliciously. “What do they know, right?”

 

"So what's the end game?" Tom asked, shifting his weight a little to see if Fine followed the movement. He did.

 

"I'm here to bring Agent Cooper in. It's time to come home, Coop. Say good-bye to your little doppelganger and come with me."

 

Pressing closer to Tom, she told Fine quietly, firmly, "I'm not going back. This is my home."

 

He nodded condescendingly. “I get it, Coop. This is a once-in-a-lifetime… excuse me, _twice_ -in-a-lifetime opportunity for you." He pointed at Tom as he asked, "Is he smarter than our dearly departed Ford? He looks smarter.”

 

Susan gasped. “You son of a-”

 

_Enough a'this-_

 

Tom lunged for him, pulling up short a few feet from Fine as Fine pulled a Glock with a suppressor on him.

 

_Now we're gettin' somewhere._

 

Fine clucked his tongue. “Nope, guess not.”

 

“Fine, don’t you fucking dare!” Susan shouted, teeth bared and hands balled into fists in front of her. “I swear to God, you shoot him and I’ll send you back to Langley in matchbox.”

 

“You got a lotta rage in that robe, Coop,” Fine smirked. He looked at Tom. “Fiesty little thing, isn’t she? Who am I telling - I’m sure you know better than I do.”

 

He gave Tom a campy wink.

 

“You gonna yak me tah death or what?” Tom sneered, making a mental note of the position of Fine's feet. “Like tah get this par'y started, if yah don't mind. Some of us ‘ave to be at work.”

 

“By all means.” Fine swept his hand towards the front door. “I’m just here for her.”

 

Tom leaned in, sucking his teeth. “Thought we'd established that's our problem.”

 

He motioned between himself and Fine.

 

“Is there _really_ a problem?” Fine extended his arm, locking his elbow as he aimed the barrel of his Glock at Tom’s forehead. “From where I’m standing, I don’t see one.”

 

_Perfect._

 

Tom smirked. “Look a li’le closer, mate.”

 

Moving so fast Fine didn’t have time to react, Tom ducked under Fine’s gun. Fine raised his other arm, anticipating a body shot from Tom. He reeled in shock when Tom headbutted him square between the eyes.

 

“Fuck!”

 

“Oo, nice shot!”

 

“Well innit this ‘andy,” Tom sneered as he caught a handful of Fine’s hair, dragging Fine down towards his knee as it rushed up to meet Fine’s nose. His other arm wrapped around Fine’s as Fine raised his hand to strike Tom with the butt of the gun. Tom pushed up at the same time he shoved Fine’s head down for another knee-bash - the opposing motion dislocated Fine’s shoulder with a sickening crunch.

 

Tom crowed, “You’re cookin’ now, boy!” as Fine groaned in pain, dropping his gun. It clattered to the foyer tiles; Tom stomped his foot on top of it as Fine made a clumsy grab. He looked down between them, pulling Fine’s hair to tilt his head back out of the way as his eyes hunted for Fine’s solar plexis. Spotting it, he punched Fine in the gut.

 

Fine convulsed, mouth open in a dry heave as blood sprayed from his nose.

 

“Chht, come on, then.” Tom rechecked his angle and punched him again, harder.

 

Fine retched, head still tipped back in Tom’s grip. Bile bubbled up and over his mouth and down his dress shirt.

 

_Score._

 

Tom smiled, all sharp teeth and malice. “Welcome tah South London, yah cocksuckin’ pig.”

 

He dropped Fine back against the front door. Fine’s legs buckled, good arm shooting out along the wall to catch himself. He doubled-over and spat, long lines of drool trailing from his mouth.

 

Tom kicked the gun back behind him. “Suzy?”

 

“Yeah?” He heard her answer somewhere close by.

 

He glanced over his shoulder, lines in his face softening a little at her wide-eyed expression. “You pick that up for me, luv?”

 

She nodded, eyes darting to Fine as he tried to rise off the door with a grunt.

 

Tom turned and punched Fine in the throat.

 

Fine choked and sputtered, trying to snort through blood and bile as his mouth worked. His hand fumbled at his tie knot as he gasped for air.

 

“Oh goodness,” Susan breathed behind Tom.

 

Fine looked at her with wide, terrified eyes. “Coo- Coopaah-ack!”

 

Tom smirked as she shook her head, sighing, “Sorry, pal. You brought this on yourself.”

 

“We kno-know,” Fine rasped, spitting and hacking as he struggled to hold himself upright. “We know you ki-ack-haw- you killed Montair-”

 

Susan pressed her fingers into her chest, blinking. “Oh, I didn’t kill Montair.” She pointed at Tom. “He did. And technically-” She tilted her head side-to-side as she considered it. “He didn’t _kill_ Montair.” She used air quotes. “He tortured him, and Montair died.”

 

The corners of Tom’s mouth quirked down in agreement. “She’s right. Didn’t last long enough for me to get to the meat of it.”

 

Tom gave Fine a nasty smile. “Was still skinnin’ ‘im when ‘e croaked. Bit of a disappointment, if I’m bein’ honest.”

 

Fine jerked back, mouth open in horror.

 

Susan cringed. “Ugh, Tom! TMI.”

 

“What? Said yah wanted it tah 'urt.” He gave her a cocky smirk, rumbling, “I made a promise, didn’t I?”

 

He reached for her; she let him tug her to him with a shy, “Tahm.”

 

He dipped his head and murmured, “Don’t I always keep a promise?”

 

She smiled, stretching up on the balls of her feet to rub the end of his nose with hers. “Yes.”

 

“Coo- Cooper, you’re insaaane- ah-hark!” Fine rasped, his hand scrambling desperately for the doorknob. He flinched, whimpering, as Tom reached for it.

 

“Lemme ‘elp you wif that.”

 

Tom hauled Fine off the door by his suit lapels and threw him savagely into the hallway.

 

Fine stumbled and smacked into the wall, collapsing.

 

“Hey _Brad_.” Susan stood next to Tom in the doorway, his arm around her waist and her hand on his shoulder. “Do me a favor? Lose my number. And tell Crocker her people aren’t welcome in Southend.”

 

Tom inhaled sharply, chest swelling with pride.

 

“Tah,” Tom waved with a malicious grin. He slammed the door shut so hard it rattled in the frame.

 

Susan let out a relieved, “Ha!”, running her fingers through her hair. "You know, that wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

 

He quirked an eyebrow at her, jerking his thumb at the door. “ _That’s_ Bradley Fine, the ponce you were in love with for a decade-”

 

“Not a decade,” she said like, _Come on_. She waved her hands side-to-side, wincing as she defended, “He’s gained a little weight since then, maybe? Charcoal was never a flattering color for him-”

 

“- the CIA’s top trained killer-”

 

“-it doesn’t really bring out his eyes. I used to tell him to stay in the navy hues-”

 

"- _Nash_  'as more bottle than 'im for Chrissake-"

 

“You know what?” Her dimples peeked out at him as he sidled up to her. “It was probably just an off-day for him.” She waved her hand, rolling her eyes. “You know, jeg-lag. Or his suit was too tight. Oh, maybe he hadn’t had his Starbucks yet! He was always worthless without a double-shot…” She trailed off as he pressed himself against her.

 

“Or maybe,” he rumbled, threading his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. He smirked as her lashes fluttered. “e’s not a match for me.”

 

“Well, that- that went without saying, obviously,” she breathed, swallowing as he tugged lightly, tipping her head back. “Sergeant Brant.”

 

_Sergeant Brant, eh?_

 

His cock twitched. He smiled, all teeth and no warmth. "S'that right?"

 

“Mm, mm-hm. I don’t think anyone’s a match for you, Sergeant.” Her eyes dropped to his mouth before she looked at him again. “You’re so big and mean.”

 

“Oh, I think there’s a match for me, darlin’.” At her confused look, he added, “I’m lookin’ at ‘er.”

 

“Tahm.” She smiled, then winced. “Did you really skin Montair?”

 

“I took care of it, s’all that mattahs.” He carded his fingers through her hair, mouth brushing against hers, their breaths mingling as he murmured, “Take care a’you, don’t I?”

 

“Yes you do, bad boy.” She closed her eyes, and then snapped them back open, looking down between them. “What the- mother butler!”

 

“What?”

 

“Is that vomit!?” She gagged. “It’s vomit, isn’t it? I just stepped in vomit-”

 

She waved her hands in front of her face. “Oh my God I’m gonna puke-”

 

He managed to side-step out of the way as she hunched over and retched.

 

His mobile rang. Probably Nash wanting to know where the fuck he was when they had a serial killer on the loose.

 

He sighed through his nose.

**Author's Note:**

> This felt *incredible*. GOD, I waited too long to do that. Thank you, Dulce, for requesting it.
> 
> I don't like to toot my own horn, but I am *loving* the Bonnie and Clyde vibe these two are giving off in this fic. *So* hot.
> 
> In case you're like, "Who the eff is Montair?", that's the guy who shot Rick Ford. The rat bahstahd!


End file.
